"High five" from Bennington, Vermont! Right now I'm dressed in a makeshift garbage bag skirt, waiting on a load at the local laundromat. The skirt's a bit translucent, but I'm assured by the fact that public nudity isn't illegal in Vermont (something I learned after Bob White encountered a naked hiker in the Green Mountains).
But I'll get to the Green Mountains later. In my last post, I was just about to leave the Whites. The final peak, Mount Moosilaukee, was unbelievable. The northern side was steep and slick, especially with the moisture of a nearby cascade, which accompanied most of the climb. We relied on wooden steps and metal rails fixed into the rock face. My quad stress had only worsened over time, so it was, you know, painstaking, but I eventually reached the shelter halfway up the mountain.
The sight of an old woman, an ex-thru-hiker, moving at half my speed, which was already halved by my quads, reduced my self pity considerably. She showed up at the shelter eager to discuss absolutely anything trail-related, with an extreme opinion about everything. It was annoying at first, but it became kind of endearing, how much the trail society affected her and how she tried so much to be involved.
Earlier that day, I met Cimarron, an 88-year-old man out to beat the record for the oldest thru-hike. He set the record at 82, but then someone one-upped it, allegedly by waiting at the base of Katahdin until his 83rd birthday before making the summit.
Cimarron looked 88. Everyone greeted him with reserved concern, especially when his opening line was always something along the lines of, "Does it get any easier!?" But he had high spirits. He'd tried to reclaim his title multiple times, but every time he returned home because of an injury, only to try again within a year or two. He's already fallen a few times this year, with fresh stitches on his head. He seemed jokingly self-conscious of all this when I met him, mentioning how his daughter sent him a bike helmet in the mail and how the trail seemed to be harder and harder every year.
The next day, we summited Moosilaukee. The summit was wide open, covered in dry grass, not the usual lichens, with an expansive view partially covered in a thin layer of cloud. Baller.
Most importantly, the mountain signified that the Moosilaukee Monster Pizza Challenge was within reach. Located at the Green House Restaurant, which runs entirely on vegetable oil, the 8-pound pizza, with 5 inches of vertical height (due to the amount of toppings) has defeated countless hikers and non-hikers alike. Defying the odds, Tag and Coach slew the beast.
The store owner was adamant about not barfing on the property, especially in their front garden, but, as it turned out, it was impossible not to do both (owner guy: "Not in the flowers! Not in the flowers!"). I shuffled the spillage into the gravel driveway as the victors retreated off the property, the owner hovering from the second story window (he was pretty cool throughout the contest, razzing the dudes a bit, but seemed apprehensive, perhaps wisely, about puke the whole time). The fight was only half over at that point. After an hour of recuperation in the grass off the road (and abrupt dashes into the bushes to hurl) the dudes stood triumphant.
Coach bought a 12-pack to celebrate.
The next day we found another occasion to gorge ourselves, this time at the Happy Hiker Hostel, located in Glencliff, New Hampshire. Fat Chap, a hostel regular, had a two-day birthday celebration and word spread of free food, provided by Miss Janet, a renowned trail angel with killer culinary skills and a fun Tennessee accent. The backyard filled up with hikers and neighbors in what felt like a rag-tag family holiday. We grouped-up in their living room and watched Inglorious Basterds, quoting our favorite parts throughout. Coach determined to change his name to "Aldo the Apache", Brad Pitt's character, but he's still "Coach" for Tag and me. We hitched back to the trail and passed out with bloated bellies.
The next day, we finally left the Whites behind us. The change in difficulty was immediate. We found ourselves cruising over gradual hills and soft ground, padded over with pine nettles. The trail passed through thin forest, mostly large pine trees, with a thin, wide canopy. It felt accommodating, tended-to, almost domestic, especially the occasional orchards. We crossed more fields than usual. Coming out of the woods, they seem saturated in color. I enjoyed the wildflowers and berries and isolated trees, with their leaves all shimmery in the wind.
Our next town, Hanover, home to Dartmouth, an Ivy League school ("OoOoOoh"), was a real treat, and my favorite so far. It was funny to pop out of the woods only a few yards from Dartmouth's football field. The trail passes right through the town. It was convenient and added something more broadly travel-oriented to the experience, in my opinion. We lolly-gagged around town and enjoyed the free handouts that some of the businesses offer thru-hikers, including coffee and candy bars (the coffee was freaking exhilarating, due in part to my physical exhaustion).
The college scene was oddly familiar, yet distant. It was something to glimpse all the excitable kids, the styles, the hang-outs, the austere academic buildings, especially as all my ex-peers start migrating around the country to begin that period of their lives.
T-Mellow and I visited the local farmer's market, ate fresh produce (easily the most coveted food item among thru-hikers) and chatted with curious pedestrians. All our closest Sobo friends wound up in Hanover at the same time, so we ate together, then returned to the edge of the woods to camp overnight.
With the Whites behind us, I was eager to get moving. After some calculations, I realized that we'd have to do more than 16 miles everyday to reach Springer before Thanksgiving. The others seemed less inclined to accelerate, at least as quickly, so I spent a few hours that morning deliberating about whether to get a move on and reunite with them down the road or not (I'd at least talk with them in Killington, 30 miles down the trail, before decisively separating and moving forward). They assured me that we'd move faster (and we have), but that they didn't want to pass up any attractions along the trail. Our pace feels natural, but I suspect that we'll reach Springer in December, colder than otherwise. Be assured, I'll definitely get home before Christmas, that's beyond question.
The holidays have a certain halo in my mind, some combination of old friends and family and homey comfort. I have surprisingly fond thoughts for certain things, like jogging around the neighborhood and dropping by my friends' houses, with their particular vibes and quirks. It'll be great to complete the trail and have so much to do immediately after.
Five miles out of Hanover, we crossed the state border and found ourselves in Vermont. It's just how I imagined it: wide pastures, quaint farms, tame woods, syrup tubes strung between the maple trees, cows- the whole deal. Northern Vermont is probably my favorite part so far. I guess I prefer its mundane novelties to the grandeur of the north. Besides, it reminds me of the Shire from The Lord of the Rings (I was re-reading The Fellowship for a while, by the way.).
We visited The Ice Cream Man, a pleasant old fella' who gives free ice cream (or fruit Popsicles) to thru-hikers from his front porch, just a few yards off the trail. He also sells soda and collects data on the hikers who pass through. We talked with him about his whole operation, played a fierce game of croquet in his backyard (Coach knocked Tag's ball out of its place from half court, then made the winning shot), then continued to chat over drinks on his back porch. His kids hiked the AT and he held all us hikers in high regard, sharing some beliefs about the virtues it takes and how something "like guardian angels" seems to guide us. It was lovely and lofty, full of fatherly pride. Personally, I don't think of the trail as much more than a trail, but I enjoy hearing other people's ideas, or plain, ole' notions, indulging in the aesthetics and sentiments and whatnot.
Some more hiking (whatever) and we reached Killington, Vermont. We hitched in and camped across the street from the Long Trail Inn and Tavern. We watched an Irish Folk band with the tourists and took advantage of a $125 tab that Bob White scored from her old boss as a parting gift.
It rained for the next day and a half. It was actually pretty refreshing. It waterlogged my feet, but that wasn't so bad as long as I kept re-soaking them in new puddles, so my socks never plastered against them and caused irritation. The problems came when we paused. The cold would sneak up on us, and moving would cause icy water to settle into new places. We actually moved faster than average on that day, just to keep warm.
On Mount Killington, we met Milk Carton, a lively chick and a bit of a legend among the Sobos this season. In the Hundred Mile Wilderness, she failed to call her parents within 48 hours, so on the 49th hour they leapt into action and drove from their home in New Jersey all the way to the wilderness (in Maine) to look for her personally. The pair, aided by park rangers, questioned thru-hikers about the maybe-missing girl. Plenty of folks knew about the search before word reached Milk Carton (named after the missing kids on milk cartons, get it?).
She's been a fun addition, assaulting us with sassy remarks and inciting trivial debate whenever possible.
We hitched into Rutland, a town adjacent to Killington, and got to crash at Milk's friend, Sam's, bachelor pad (how do you do that, grammatically speaking? I hope it includes commas). It reminded me of my siblings' college residences, with collected pieces of furniture, cool, artsy posters, and a big couch. We were especially fond of his surround sound system, installed throughout the apartment, so you could jam out between rooms, uninterrupted. The computer and the coffee table books absorbed my attention, so I ended up falling asleep at 2 AM, the night before an 18-miler, in classic high school fashion.
Taggy-boy and I have bit of a rivalry thing going on, and after an especially bitter episode of back-talking each other, Coach recommended that we settle things in an old school, thuggish rap battle. For two weeks, between Moosilaukee and the Southern Green Mountains, we dissed each other's rap skills and general gangsterdom, until the day of the battle, August 20th, finally arrived. We lit the camp fire, threw together a three-judge panel, then spat lyrical venom for three 30-second sessions. I would share the video, but the obscenity (and the carnage) would probably scare my audience away and thwart my humanitarian ambitions.
It was a fine show, I claimed victory, but it was a mere battle in a war that may never truly end (we're actually going to make little weapons out of broom handles and water noodles and duke it out in the woods. Tag's gonna' be a Native American warrior, I'm gonna' be a future samurai, and milk carton's gonna' be a Jedi (which, come to think of it, is kind of like a future samurai, except they're from "long ago," in the past, but whatever).).
The next day, we hiked through a severe thunder storm, more intense, but short-lived, than the one on Mount Killington. I enjoyed stomping down the trail, suddenly a rapid stream, singing between the lightning bursts. Shortly after the rain, Tag and I spotted two rabbits ( : D ) and a moose within five minutes. It was a high-concentration, animal-spotting situation. The moose was very close, only a few feet, and stared us down as we passed.
That night, we hitched into Bennington to stay at the the word-of-mouth hostel, The Vortex (because it sucks hikers in and distracts them from their goals). It was awesome. The owners, a couple of artists, let hikers drift in and out of the property, after a brief introduction, of course. We mostly dwell in the back shed, a roomy building with a pool table and lots of grateful letters from old guests on the walls. I got to sleep upstairs with some others and enjoyed all the miscellaneous items, compilation props, and mounted pieces throughout the house and in the wife's studio. During the day, I heard the dad jamming with his nephew in their fully-equipped music studio, with exotic percussion instruments to boot.
Since starting this post, I've moved from the laundromat, to spots around Bennington, and back to the trail, typing between activities. Now I'm the only one awake in the shelter, tapping away in the top bunk (is this information valuable? Whatever.).
Anyway, I'm gonna' hit the hay, but stay tuned for the next exciting entry! And please donate to UNICEF, it's THE thing to do!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
P.S.- Tag saw a deer between Bennington and this shelter. He said he might as well be called "freaking Grizzly Adams."
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
More pics
Tag consulting the guide on top of Saddleback ridge in Maine.
Rabbit chilling in the fireplace.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Pictures for Previous Post
View from somewhere in the Whites.
Free food at the Happy Hiker's Hostel outside of Glencliff, NH! It was Fat Chap's birthday. He's a hostel regular, so Ms. Janet, an awesome lady, made a spread for hikers passing through. It was like a family holiday or something.
I don't remember where this was...
On the Maine/New Hampshire border.
Bob White and me getting our munch on.
Preston at the Maine/New Hampshire border.
Chet's place in Lincoln, New Hampshire.
Beautiful scenery.
The Giver was our book club book for a while.
Tag at the Maine/ New Hampshire border.
?
?
Trail magic with Bob White, Margot (Happy Camper), Preston (Coach), Twisted Turtle, and Tag. This was outside Andover, ME.
?
That's probably Mt. Washington in the distance, but I don't know because these are Preston's pictures.
Hitching into Bethel, ME, for some sweet Harry Potter action. It was a beautiful ride. Not a glamorous shot.
The Mahoosuc Notch!
It was awesome.
Somewhere in the Whites.
Somewhere in the Whites.
Somewhere in the Whites.
?
Outside the Lakes of the Clouds Hut in the Whites, 1.5 miles from the summit of Mt. Washington.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Day 34
"Yo!" from Lincoln, New Hampshire! Wow, SO much has happened since the last update. I can't believe it's been 18 days. That blows my mind. The trail's kind of a timeless place, it's easy to just wander your way through the month, especially when you don't have any real schedule to mark the passage of time. Things seem to just unravel for you, and suddenly it's been 18 days-ha!
There's a lot to cover. Let's start at square one: Harry Potter. The gang was overjoyed to see the final Potter flick in Bethel, Maine. It was funny to visit the theater and munch on Twizzlers, staring up at the display all enchanted and dumb.
Bob White couldn't join us because she was seeing her pal, Margot, who could only hike for twelve days, off at the Bangor airport. Her boyfriend, Jeff (or Powder River), had to pick them up at the trailhead near Andover. As it happened, my crew was just about to cross the road, scale a mountain, walk four miles, and crash at a shelter. We were all bloated and lazy from overindulgence in town and our spirits were low, especially with the sun due to set in two hours. Luckily, Jeff pulled up with a cooler of soft drinks, Gatorade, Oreos, and caramel popcorn, so we munched and caught up and just camped off the road. (This might not sound like an awesome story, but Trail Magic, or free goodies, is pretty exciting among the hikers.)
We havent seen Bob White since then, but that's the way of the trail I suppose. It's all very loose and fleeting. Twisted Turtle hangs with us now, he's a great addition to the crew, always throwing in snide remarks that get everyone LOL'ing.
New Hampshire was in our sights (sometimes literally). Besides Harry Potter, the Mahoosuc Notch was an awesome finale for the state. This portion of the trail, often referred to as the hardest mile of the whole thing, guides you through, over, and under a complicated boulder field, surrounded on either side by dense forest. It was like an obstacle course (at the time, I likened it to Tomb Raider and Prince of Persia). For an hour and a half, Tag and I hopped between rocks, sidled along ledges, and navigated narrow corridors (sometimes needing to take our packs off). Cool air issued out of the deeper crevices, sometimes full of ice with steam swirling around. It was really fantastic, exactly the kind of thing little kids like myself think of an adventure. Coach actually took his backpack off and went back for seconds.
It's crazy that so many Nobos (northbounders) we met viewed the notch as a nuisance, telling us that, unfortunately, we couldn't move through it at our normal speed. From what I'd heard, I expected a steep, laborious climb, not the awesome playplace that I got. After seeing some of the fastest Nobos, all stern and beleaguered, and after some support from the crew, I've discovered that a slower pace is my style for the trail. I'd still like to finish in November, but December's good too. Still, the mid-Atlantic part of the trail's supposed to be faster, lots of Nobos claim we'll "fly" down it, so I may finish in November anyway.
Shortly after Mahoosuc, we entered New Hampshire. We were pleased to have completed our first and hardest state, Maine. Now the White Mountains stood before us.
The Whites could have been a hard core challenge for us, but with Maine experience under our belts, and the good advice of many Nobos to just take it easy and enjoy the most spectacular part of the trail, we strolled through with daily mileages ranging from eight to fifteen. The Appalachian Mountain Club, a non-profit environmental group, manages a series of huts and shelters throughout the Whites where thru-hikers can seek work-for-stay jobs. Some thru-hikers resent the AMC because you either have to pay to stay in their shelters or ask for work slots that sometimes aren't available, so things can get iffy. Hikers can always stealth camp if they're turned away from shelters or huts, but weather is unpredictable up there. Luckily, Tag and I scored three work-for-stay's, and six free meals, so we got all the perks of the AMC. Regardless, we joked that we hated the oppression of the AMC, one of many faux-enemies of ours, including day packers, Nobos, Canadians, blue blazers (who follow side trails, sometimes bypassing the AT), and slack packers (who do portions of the trail with reduced packs, then pick up their full packs farther on). The Greenleaf Hut was especially nice because it was a mile off the trail, so thru-hikers were rare and well received (Tag delivered a presentation on thru-hiking to a full house of lodgers, including wide-eyed summer camp kids).
The mountains themselves were unbelievable. From a viewpoint, the land seems restless and abrupt, with constant bulges, ups, downs, and ripples, all surrounding the more gradual, sheer presence of Mount Washington, the premier mountain in the area, and the tallest. Unfortunately, the trek up Washington was cloudy. Ominous fog collected over the alpine field, until we were reduced to bobbing, gray forms, and the trail was just a series of cairns. By the time we summited, the visibility was so poor that I didn't notice an otherwise-prominent visitor's center only ten yards to my left. Even then I couldn't tell how large or how far it was until I actually reached it (I once thought that a white shape in a valley was a roof of a building, but I reached it within a minute to find that it was just a white rock, smaller than a drink cooler). Coach thought it was funny to see little girls (in flip-flops) emerge from the mist and pose next to the summit sign, asking their mom to just take the picture so they could get back to the car. The visitor's center had a display of all these magnificent pictures of sights from Washington, but the windows at the time looked like artificial, fluorescent lighting fixtures.
But the rest of our summits were only partially cloudy, which I prefer so we can watch the clouds interact with the mountains and the light. I got my fill of cloud action on top of Franconia Ridge, an exposed walk overlooking the southern Whites. A monster thunderstorm rolled in. Tag had the good sense to recommend that we scamper down the side of the ridge and squat on the balls of our feet to avoid lightning. It was a good thirty minute quad workout before the bulk of the storm passed. The clear, blue view to our right contrasted well with the hostile, receding storm clouds on our left.
Still, the Whites had more to offer than free food and epic views. Tag and I had a good time chilling on Zealand Falls, a stream that runs downhill over smooth, orange rock. My legs were acutely sore, maybe a little damaged, and we weren't especially motivated to move on, so we found a secluded spot far up the falls and spent the remainder of the day there before setting up our sleeping pads and bags and spending the night. It reminded me of Huck Finn, to spontaneously choose a spot on a river and to crash there. The noise of the river was a kind of silence. Plus, the river broke the canopy, so we got sweet star action. Tag exclaimed that there was more white than black in the sky. That was a real serene evening, wellbeing all over the freaking place.
Anyway, we hitched into Lincoln to stay at Chet's Place, a trail-famous house owned by the saint, the man, Chet. An avid hiker, he was injured when his fuel canister malfunctioned, leaving him hospitalized for many months. Now he's wheelchair-bound and bides his time by welcoming hikers into his home, where we bunk up in his garage. He's been doing this for fifteen years now. Hikers sign their names and draw pictures on designated surfaces, so you can see the history of the place, and the magnitude of his service, on the walls and bed frames. In fact, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy might put them on display. Pretty neat. I love the facilities, especially the shower (I hadn't bathed since the last post, so...).
Well, we're going to hitch out pretty soon. There's more to say, but oh well. Please remember to donate. Stay tuned for pics!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
PS- I saw a baby bear! We both freaked out when we saw each other. He leapt up a tree, climbed on a branch and snarled at me for a while. My first impulse, surprisingly, was to go, "Oh, hey!" and to start to approach it, but I instantly realized its momma' probably wouldn't approve, so I retreated out of sight for ten minutes before returning, after it had left.
PPS- I saw a rabbit too, it was cute, as rabbits are, and curious and hoppy.
There's a lot to cover. Let's start at square one: Harry Potter. The gang was overjoyed to see the final Potter flick in Bethel, Maine. It was funny to visit the theater and munch on Twizzlers, staring up at the display all enchanted and dumb.
Bob White couldn't join us because she was seeing her pal, Margot, who could only hike for twelve days, off at the Bangor airport. Her boyfriend, Jeff (or Powder River), had to pick them up at the trailhead near Andover. As it happened, my crew was just about to cross the road, scale a mountain, walk four miles, and crash at a shelter. We were all bloated and lazy from overindulgence in town and our spirits were low, especially with the sun due to set in two hours. Luckily, Jeff pulled up with a cooler of soft drinks, Gatorade, Oreos, and caramel popcorn, so we munched and caught up and just camped off the road. (This might not sound like an awesome story, but Trail Magic, or free goodies, is pretty exciting among the hikers.)
We havent seen Bob White since then, but that's the way of the trail I suppose. It's all very loose and fleeting. Twisted Turtle hangs with us now, he's a great addition to the crew, always throwing in snide remarks that get everyone LOL'ing.
New Hampshire was in our sights (sometimes literally). Besides Harry Potter, the Mahoosuc Notch was an awesome finale for the state. This portion of the trail, often referred to as the hardest mile of the whole thing, guides you through, over, and under a complicated boulder field, surrounded on either side by dense forest. It was like an obstacle course (at the time, I likened it to Tomb Raider and Prince of Persia). For an hour and a half, Tag and I hopped between rocks, sidled along ledges, and navigated narrow corridors (sometimes needing to take our packs off). Cool air issued out of the deeper crevices, sometimes full of ice with steam swirling around. It was really fantastic, exactly the kind of thing little kids like myself think of an adventure. Coach actually took his backpack off and went back for seconds.
It's crazy that so many Nobos (northbounders) we met viewed the notch as a nuisance, telling us that, unfortunately, we couldn't move through it at our normal speed. From what I'd heard, I expected a steep, laborious climb, not the awesome playplace that I got. After seeing some of the fastest Nobos, all stern and beleaguered, and after some support from the crew, I've discovered that a slower pace is my style for the trail. I'd still like to finish in November, but December's good too. Still, the mid-Atlantic part of the trail's supposed to be faster, lots of Nobos claim we'll "fly" down it, so I may finish in November anyway.
Shortly after Mahoosuc, we entered New Hampshire. We were pleased to have completed our first and hardest state, Maine. Now the White Mountains stood before us.
The Whites could have been a hard core challenge for us, but with Maine experience under our belts, and the good advice of many Nobos to just take it easy and enjoy the most spectacular part of the trail, we strolled through with daily mileages ranging from eight to fifteen. The Appalachian Mountain Club, a non-profit environmental group, manages a series of huts and shelters throughout the Whites where thru-hikers can seek work-for-stay jobs. Some thru-hikers resent the AMC because you either have to pay to stay in their shelters or ask for work slots that sometimes aren't available, so things can get iffy. Hikers can always stealth camp if they're turned away from shelters or huts, but weather is unpredictable up there. Luckily, Tag and I scored three work-for-stay's, and six free meals, so we got all the perks of the AMC. Regardless, we joked that we hated the oppression of the AMC, one of many faux-enemies of ours, including day packers, Nobos, Canadians, blue blazers (who follow side trails, sometimes bypassing the AT), and slack packers (who do portions of the trail with reduced packs, then pick up their full packs farther on). The Greenleaf Hut was especially nice because it was a mile off the trail, so thru-hikers were rare and well received (Tag delivered a presentation on thru-hiking to a full house of lodgers, including wide-eyed summer camp kids).
The mountains themselves were unbelievable. From a viewpoint, the land seems restless and abrupt, with constant bulges, ups, downs, and ripples, all surrounding the more gradual, sheer presence of Mount Washington, the premier mountain in the area, and the tallest. Unfortunately, the trek up Washington was cloudy. Ominous fog collected over the alpine field, until we were reduced to bobbing, gray forms, and the trail was just a series of cairns. By the time we summited, the visibility was so poor that I didn't notice an otherwise-prominent visitor's center only ten yards to my left. Even then I couldn't tell how large or how far it was until I actually reached it (I once thought that a white shape in a valley was a roof of a building, but I reached it within a minute to find that it was just a white rock, smaller than a drink cooler). Coach thought it was funny to see little girls (in flip-flops) emerge from the mist and pose next to the summit sign, asking their mom to just take the picture so they could get back to the car. The visitor's center had a display of all these magnificent pictures of sights from Washington, but the windows at the time looked like artificial, fluorescent lighting fixtures.
But the rest of our summits were only partially cloudy, which I prefer so we can watch the clouds interact with the mountains and the light. I got my fill of cloud action on top of Franconia Ridge, an exposed walk overlooking the southern Whites. A monster thunderstorm rolled in. Tag had the good sense to recommend that we scamper down the side of the ridge and squat on the balls of our feet to avoid lightning. It was a good thirty minute quad workout before the bulk of the storm passed. The clear, blue view to our right contrasted well with the hostile, receding storm clouds on our left.
Still, the Whites had more to offer than free food and epic views. Tag and I had a good time chilling on Zealand Falls, a stream that runs downhill over smooth, orange rock. My legs were acutely sore, maybe a little damaged, and we weren't especially motivated to move on, so we found a secluded spot far up the falls and spent the remainder of the day there before setting up our sleeping pads and bags and spending the night. It reminded me of Huck Finn, to spontaneously choose a spot on a river and to crash there. The noise of the river was a kind of silence. Plus, the river broke the canopy, so we got sweet star action. Tag exclaimed that there was more white than black in the sky. That was a real serene evening, wellbeing all over the freaking place.
Anyway, we hitched into Lincoln to stay at Chet's Place, a trail-famous house owned by the saint, the man, Chet. An avid hiker, he was injured when his fuel canister malfunctioned, leaving him hospitalized for many months. Now he's wheelchair-bound and bides his time by welcoming hikers into his home, where we bunk up in his garage. He's been doing this for fifteen years now. Hikers sign their names and draw pictures on designated surfaces, so you can see the history of the place, and the magnitude of his service, on the walls and bed frames. In fact, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy might put them on display. Pretty neat. I love the facilities, especially the shower (I hadn't bathed since the last post, so...).
Well, we're going to hitch out pretty soon. There's more to say, but oh well. Please remember to donate. Stay tuned for pics!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
PS- I saw a baby bear! We both freaked out when we saw each other. He leapt up a tree, climbed on a branch and snarled at me for a while. My first impulse, surprisingly, was to go, "Oh, hey!" and to start to approach it, but I instantly realized its momma' probably wouldn't approve, so I retreated out of sight for ten minutes before returning, after it had left.
PPS- I saw a rabbit too, it was cute, as rabbits are, and curious and hoppy.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Day seventeen
"Howdy" from Scratton, Maine! It's been pleasant hiking since we left Monson. The Hundred Mile Wilderness was a pretty intense introduction to the trail, so the last few days have been tame by comparison. Well, all but last Thursday, when we crossed The Bigelows, a pair of huge peaks overlooking the lakes and mountains we'd spent so many days navigating. The two-mile hike up the largest of The Bigelows was extra harsh, with boulders and crags at the base, followed by a series of deceptive, rocky inclines.
We've had fun meeting up with Bob White and Happy Camper at shelters at lunch and dinner. Tag and I are psyched to see Harry Potter in Andover with them. Nothing I've experienced on the trail can compare to the adventure and thrills of the completion of the Harry Potter saga! (just kidding, haha)
Let's see, what else?... Oh yeah! Preston (now known as Coach, because of his invaluable survival advice) completed the White Wolf Challenge at Scratton's White Wolf Inn. He downed three 1-pound burgers, topped with sausage and bacon, each with a bunch of fries. Somehow, we forgot to take pictures of all the food, but I did get a pic of Coach shortly after "winning" the challenge (he was all dazed and traumatized at the moment). It was pretty hardcore to watch from the opposite side of the table, especially with the threat of vomit (I was ready to bail at any moment).
Well, we had to wait an extra day in town for a package to arrive. I'm actually pretty eager to get back on the trail. The next portion, southern Maine, is supposed to be the hardest part of the trail, but if it's anything like The Bigelows, then it should be great.
Oh yeah, I have a trail name. Someone suggested "the butterfly whisperer," and that went through a bunch of changes and inside joke references. The name metamorphosed and grew, and The Butterfly Effect (or "Effect," for short) has emerged from its cocoon! It's a bit manly, maybe a little intimidating, but I think it will work.
Well, thanks again for reading, and remember to donate! Effect out!
These pics are from Moxie Bald Mountain, nice view.
This is Bob White with a picture of the quail she's named after.
Relaxing on Avery Peak, the Bigelows.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
We've had fun meeting up with Bob White and Happy Camper at shelters at lunch and dinner. Tag and I are psyched to see Harry Potter in Andover with them. Nothing I've experienced on the trail can compare to the adventure and thrills of the completion of the Harry Potter saga! (just kidding, haha)
Let's see, what else?... Oh yeah! Preston (now known as Coach, because of his invaluable survival advice) completed the White Wolf Challenge at Scratton's White Wolf Inn. He downed three 1-pound burgers, topped with sausage and bacon, each with a bunch of fries. Somehow, we forgot to take pictures of all the food, but I did get a pic of Coach shortly after "winning" the challenge (he was all dazed and traumatized at the moment). It was pretty hardcore to watch from the opposite side of the table, especially with the threat of vomit (I was ready to bail at any moment).
Well, we had to wait an extra day in town for a package to arrive. I'm actually pretty eager to get back on the trail. The next portion, southern Maine, is supposed to be the hardest part of the trail, but if it's anything like The Bigelows, then it should be great.
Oh yeah, I have a trail name. Someone suggested "the butterfly whisperer," and that went through a bunch of changes and inside joke references. The name metamorphosed and grew, and The Butterfly Effect (or "Effect," for short) has emerged from its cocoon! It's a bit manly, maybe a little intimidating, but I think it will work.
Well, thanks again for reading, and remember to donate! Effect out!
These pics are from Moxie Bald Mountain, nice view.
This is Bob White with a picture of the quail she's named after.
Relaxing on Avery Peak, the Bigelows.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Day Eight
"What's up!?" from Monson, Maine! The Hundred Mile Wilderness was pretty fierce, but the occasional vistas compensated, plus hanging with Tag and Preston at night. White Cap Mountain was especially awesome. We covered a few miles of gradual incline, then 1.4 miles of ridiculous, practically-vertical stone staircase action, before the bald top of the mountain. I could see forever, with the deepest layers of mountains covered over in a blue haze. Spotting the lakes and mountains we'd traversed was a treat. Plus, I saw a thunderstorm roll in. The clear view turned all spooky and hostile, and only the nearest peaks were visible. Cool stuff.
The animal sightings have been more of the same, except a cool orange salamander with red spots, he had a slick design. Oh, there was also a crazy bird that leapt out of the bushes at me, hissing like a cat, with the feathers around it's neck all sticking out, kind of like that poison-spitting dinosaur that killed Newman in Jurassic Park. At that point, I was really in the hiking groove, kind of playing Dance Dance Revolution with the rocks and the roots, in my zone, ya' know, so it was extremely surprising.
Oh (again), another animal, a dog, surprised me that day. This lady's dog, her thru-hike companion actually, snuck up behind me and stole my bagel! I should have bought more food, just in case we were held up for an additional day before Monson, so I was a bit concerned. But it was mostly funny, especially how the dog acted so mischievous.
At the end of the day, I fell into a river, then trudged the last mile to the shelter, which we've referred to repeatedly as the most impossibly-long-seeming mile on the trail (but there are plenty of contenders).
Yesterday a killer storm rolled by, just as we were about to ford a river, so we put on our rain gear and waited until the lightning passed before passing. It was real close for a while, all purple, with long thunder roars. Tag and I agreed that it added some intrigue to our trip. Then we hiked through the remaining drizzle as the night closed in.
I was amazed by how the sunset colors diffused into the fog. It seemed to fill the spaces between trees, the atmosphere was so dense. We passed a large lake with a few islands. I was impressed by how the air and the water seemed continuous, with only the islands and their reflections marking the dividing line. In fact, that was probably the most beautiful part of the trip so far. It was like a Chinese ink painting or something, with simple colors and black shapes. It got dark though, and we had our headlamps on before we finally found the shelter.
Now I'm taking it easy at the Lakeside House, a hostel/bar/laundromat/restaurant, watching Blazing Saddles with some other thru-hikers, including Charizard (he has a bad ass Pokemon shirt) and three ex-military dudes from the same platoon (they call themselves the Men of Action Team, or MOAT for short). It's the best place ever, so comfy and casual. Plus, they have kayaks and a water trampoline, which I might take advantage of soon. It's a real home-y place to let our feet heal before heading out for the rest of Maine, which is allegedly the hardest state on the trail.
Having access to so much food is the best part of getting to town. I've already lost 4 pounds, but Tag's lost 5 and Preston's lost 10! I ate 13 tacos, and could've gone for another 13, but i didn't want abuse the manager's Thursday all-you-can-eat taco special. The manager, Rebecca, is the busiest woman on the planet. In my hour at the counter, she answered the phone at least eight times, tended to the bar, directed multiple work-for-stay-employees, and small-talked with numerous groups of regulars.
Well, I'm going to finish watching the movie, down the rest of this tube of Pringles, and check out the bluegrass show later tonight. I'll try to post some photos too.
Please remember to donate! Thanks!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
The animal sightings have been more of the same, except a cool orange salamander with red spots, he had a slick design. Oh, there was also a crazy bird that leapt out of the bushes at me, hissing like a cat, with the feathers around it's neck all sticking out, kind of like that poison-spitting dinosaur that killed Newman in Jurassic Park. At that point, I was really in the hiking groove, kind of playing Dance Dance Revolution with the rocks and the roots, in my zone, ya' know, so it was extremely surprising.
Oh (again), another animal, a dog, surprised me that day. This lady's dog, her thru-hike companion actually, snuck up behind me and stole my bagel! I should have bought more food, just in case we were held up for an additional day before Monson, so I was a bit concerned. But it was mostly funny, especially how the dog acted so mischievous.
At the end of the day, I fell into a river, then trudged the last mile to the shelter, which we've referred to repeatedly as the most impossibly-long-seeming mile on the trail (but there are plenty of contenders).
Yesterday a killer storm rolled by, just as we were about to ford a river, so we put on our rain gear and waited until the lightning passed before passing. It was real close for a while, all purple, with long thunder roars. Tag and I agreed that it added some intrigue to our trip. Then we hiked through the remaining drizzle as the night closed in.
I was amazed by how the sunset colors diffused into the fog. It seemed to fill the spaces between trees, the atmosphere was so dense. We passed a large lake with a few islands. I was impressed by how the air and the water seemed continuous, with only the islands and their reflections marking the dividing line. In fact, that was probably the most beautiful part of the trip so far. It was like a Chinese ink painting or something, with simple colors and black shapes. It got dark though, and we had our headlamps on before we finally found the shelter.
Now I'm taking it easy at the Lakeside House, a hostel/bar/laundromat/restaurant, watching Blazing Saddles with some other thru-hikers, including Charizard (he has a bad ass Pokemon shirt) and three ex-military dudes from the same platoon (they call themselves the Men of Action Team, or MOAT for short). It's the best place ever, so comfy and casual. Plus, they have kayaks and a water trampoline, which I might take advantage of soon. It's a real home-y place to let our feet heal before heading out for the rest of Maine, which is allegedly the hardest state on the trail.
Having access to so much food is the best part of getting to town. I've already lost 4 pounds, but Tag's lost 5 and Preston's lost 10! I ate 13 tacos, and could've gone for another 13, but i didn't want abuse the manager's Thursday all-you-can-eat taco special. The manager, Rebecca, is the busiest woman on the planet. In my hour at the counter, she answered the phone at least eight times, tended to the bar, directed multiple work-for-stay-employees, and small-talked with numerous groups of regulars.
Well, I'm going to finish watching the movie, down the rest of this tube of Pringles, and check out the bluegrass show later tonight. I'll try to post some photos too.
Please remember to donate! Thanks!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Day four
Good afternoon everybody! I've scored some cell service on this river bank, so I'm going to give y'all a brief summary on what's going down:
So, as I've already said, the first day was extra intense. Every time I've seen katahdin since then, from a vista or an outlook, it's had a sinister cloud on top, even if it's an otherwise clear day. It's a killer mountain. I was all sore in the upper body the next day from pulling myself over boulders and figuring out creative, but questionable, ways to get around the rocks.
So yeah, on top I met Tag. At first a vague shape in the rain, now my trail buddy. We're both eighteen, just graduated, pretty psyched for the trail and the adventure and all that good stuff (although a lot of it is plain endurance and not all that action-packed, of course).
Since then we've seen a moose chilling in a river, four snakes, lots of frogs, squirrels, chipmunks, some fish, and too many flies, but that's "part of the game," as he might say.
Weve befriended five others, and I wouldn't be surprised if we regrouped with them at trail shelters for the rest of the hundred mile wilderness. There's Preston, a wilderness school grad. He's like bear grylls, only probably more fun to be around. There's powderriver and "bobwhite," a cute couple who make dorky jokes with each all the time. Also, there's lizzy and -, a custom gun maker and a car customizer respectively. Everyone's friendly, calm, and well-humored.
We joke around the usual camp chores, then off to bed (around nine, ha!). The sun rises at four thirty around here, and people are preparing for the day by six thirty. Eating enough food is actually a chore because we burn so much carrying 30+ pounds over the root systems, rocks, and elevation changes on the trail. But it's not really an issue, everyone seems pretty resigned to the facts of the trail and just soldiers on. Besides, there's plenty of aspects that help to redeem it, including the vistas, the waterfalls, the pleasant pine-floor parts, and especially the White House, a restaurant/lodge located a mile off the trail. You blow an air horn and a man motor-boats you across. The property's beautiful, all hilly and grassy with quaint houses and home-y decor. They sell 1 lb. Burgers and pizza (I got a veggie burger), and you can resupply there (which is sweet because you can carry less food on your way to it).
Tag and I are going to take a relatively easy 11-mile day today to tend to our blisters (they're evil), which festered yesterday during a wet 20-mile hike. For the next five days, we're going through the more mountainous half of the hundred mile wilderness, so we'll need our feet in semi-decent shape.
Oh yeah, I found. Butterly in a shelter, picked up the stuff it was standing on, then it chilled on my finger and tried to extract something from me for a while, pretty cool. They have lots of these guys around here, settled in bunches that flutter around when you disturb them.
Well, I'll post the next time I have the opportunity! I'll include photos when I have better reception. Please remember to donate to UNICEF! We're responsible to spread our good fortune! Visit my UNICEF site (located at the top of this page) for further encouragement!
thanks!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
So, as I've already said, the first day was extra intense. Every time I've seen katahdin since then, from a vista or an outlook, it's had a sinister cloud on top, even if it's an otherwise clear day. It's a killer mountain. I was all sore in the upper body the next day from pulling myself over boulders and figuring out creative, but questionable, ways to get around the rocks.
So yeah, on top I met Tag. At first a vague shape in the rain, now my trail buddy. We're both eighteen, just graduated, pretty psyched for the trail and the adventure and all that good stuff (although a lot of it is plain endurance and not all that action-packed, of course).
Since then we've seen a moose chilling in a river, four snakes, lots of frogs, squirrels, chipmunks, some fish, and too many flies, but that's "part of the game," as he might say.
Weve befriended five others, and I wouldn't be surprised if we regrouped with them at trail shelters for the rest of the hundred mile wilderness. There's Preston, a wilderness school grad. He's like bear grylls, only probably more fun to be around. There's powderriver and "bobwhite," a cute couple who make dorky jokes with each all the time. Also, there's lizzy and -, a custom gun maker and a car customizer respectively. Everyone's friendly, calm, and well-humored.
We joke around the usual camp chores, then off to bed (around nine, ha!). The sun rises at four thirty around here, and people are preparing for the day by six thirty. Eating enough food is actually a chore because we burn so much carrying 30+ pounds over the root systems, rocks, and elevation changes on the trail. But it's not really an issue, everyone seems pretty resigned to the facts of the trail and just soldiers on. Besides, there's plenty of aspects that help to redeem it, including the vistas, the waterfalls, the pleasant pine-floor parts, and especially the White House, a restaurant/lodge located a mile off the trail. You blow an air horn and a man motor-boats you across. The property's beautiful, all hilly and grassy with quaint houses and home-y decor. They sell 1 lb. Burgers and pizza (I got a veggie burger), and you can resupply there (which is sweet because you can carry less food on your way to it).
Tag and I are going to take a relatively easy 11-mile day today to tend to our blisters (they're evil), which festered yesterday during a wet 20-mile hike. For the next five days, we're going through the more mountainous half of the hundred mile wilderness, so we'll need our feet in semi-decent shape.
Oh yeah, I found. Butterly in a shelter, picked up the stuff it was standing on, then it chilled on my finger and tried to extract something from me for a while, pretty cool. They have lots of these guys around here, settled in bunches that flutter around when you disturb them.
Well, I'll post the next time I have the opportunity! I'll include photos when I have better reception. Please remember to donate to UNICEF! We're responsible to spread our good fortune! Visit my UNICEF site (located at the top of this page) for further encouragement!
thanks!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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